


Satellites (It's a Beautiful Morning)

by misura



Category: Men in Black (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21747001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: In which M returns to London for a very special, vitally important mission. (Spoiler: it isn't.)
Relationships: Agent H | Henry/Agent M | Molly Wright
Comments: 9
Kudos: 57
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Satellites (It's a Beautiful Morning)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexcat/gifts).



"It seems Agent H - probationary head of the London office Agent H, that is, has a problem," O said, and M told herself not to smile. A problem was Serious Business, after all. Total destruction of Earth might be imminent, or possibly invasion by a couple of hundred aliens who liked cats. (Really, _really_ liked cats. The paperwork for that one had been legen-wait for it-dary.)

O didn't seem ready to say more, so M put on her best professional, 'if you could look at the shiny bzzz I have here in my hand, sir, ma'am' face and asked, "A problem, ma'am?" in a way she hoped conveyed how Very Serious she was taking this.

"A very serious, very urgent and, it seems, very personal problem," O said. There was a hint of something in her eyes that might have been amusement, sympathy or a reflection of something behind M. "So serious, urgent and personal, in fact, that those are the only details he had time to put in his message."

O had not struck M as shy about asking for more details in a situation where more details were needed. "Yes, ma'am," she said. "I understand."

"Do you like New York, Agent M? Any ... emotional attachments here?" O asked.

That one was easy, at least. "No, ma'am."

"No, I didn't think so. Well. Good luck in London, Agent M. I will be expecting nothing. A lovely quiet, beautifully calm nothing." O smiled.

M fought an urge to either salute or click her heels or smile back. "And nothing you will get. Ma'am."

"I'm counting on it, Agent M."

H was waiting for her in the station and trying to be casual about it. He had three agents with him, all of whom looked like their feet hurt from walking around so much.

"M!" H beamed at her, his expression one of delighted and honest surprise. "I didn't know you were coming! We should catch up, get some drinks, what do you say? I know this club - you'll love it!"

"Um," M said. "You sent a message to New York asking for me?" She hadn't quite ruled out an impending alien invasion and/or planetary annihilation yet, but they were beginning to look a little less likely.

She supposed she shouldn't get greedy. She'd saved the world once already, or been part of the team effort, anyway. For the next year or so, she'd be happy dealing with the Jimmies and the 'excuse me, I walked into this fast food restaurant but it turns out this is an electronics store' incidents of the world.

"I did?" H continued beaming. "Well, how about that. I must have been, I don't know, not drunk, I don't think, I mean, getting drunk on the job would be - but we did seize those six boxes of - well, never mind. You're here!"

"I'm here," M said and then, because two of the agents were looking just the tiniest bit judgmental, "Yay."

"Yay, indeed." H nodded. The gesture reminded her of High T, though it had looked different on him. More paternal, less like someone trying something on that didn't belong to him. "Yay, indeed," he repeated. "So anyway, my office, fifteen minutes? Give you some time to get settled in, yeah?"

"Or we could go there right now," M said. "I mean, I'm good with that if you are."

H wagged a finger at her. "Still as keen as ever, eh? It's a pity, really, but I have a meeting with - who was it again? Tip of my tongue, I swear." He turned to the third agent, which M supposed showed ... something, at least. A glimmer of hope. A light at the end of the tunnel.

Might be the on-coming express to Milan, Nairobi and Tokyo, of course.

"Agent M from the New York office," the agent said.

"Look at that!" H said. "You're right on time!"

"Yeah," M said. She felt - he needed help. She'd known he needed help, but she'd gone to New York anyway, figuring that he'd be able to work it out, that he'd be all right. Her mistake.

The paintings of H and High T saving the world with nothing but their wits and so on were gone. They hadn't been replaced by anything else: there were just two empty spots on the wall where they'd used to be.

"Still a coffee, black, no milk or sugar or nonsense type of girl?" H asked, holding out a cup with a familiar logo.

"Thanks." M wondered if she should ask, or if that would just remind him of what had happened.

"No pro. That's what I do," H said, sipping from his own cup and grimacing. "Tea. Hate the stuff. But. So. You're here! Good! Fantastic! Have you done something new with your hair? It looks great. I mean, not that it didn't look great before, of course. Can't really improve on perfection now, can you?"

"No, you cannot." M gulped down some coffee. "So I see you're redecorating." That seemed nice and neutral, leaving the ball in his court.

"What, the paintings? Those old things?" H chuckled. "I considered keeping them, but then I told myself, no, be smart, I'm sure everyone's sick of them by now. Time for something new! In fact, that's why you're here. Something new! A fresh face! Well, not fresh fresh, but, you know - new! Ish."

"I did have some fun last time I was here," M said.

"We," H corrected. " _We_ had some fun. Yes, we did, didn't we? So I thought, let's have some more of that. More fun. I mean, who doesn't like fun? Fun is good. Fun is ... fun."

"Indeed it is." M drank some more coffee. It was good stuff. "So what, exactly, did you have in mind?"

"Ah!" H's entire face lit up like it was Christmas. "You're going to like this! It's why I called you out here in the first place - well, that and the fact that, you know, you're you, and you are, well, you're you."

"Last time I checked, anyway," M mumbled, because it felt a tiny bit insensitive to say that out loud, all things considered.

"Excuse me?" H said.

"Nothing." M smiled at him. "I'm just excited. And, you know, getting a little bit impatient over here."

"Ha! Same old M!" H said. "Not to imply that you're old, of course. You're young! Not old at all. Beautiful and gorgeous and sharp and smart. Great body, great mind, great personality. The whole package. If I was looking for anything other than casual sex, I swear, I'd be writing you poetry. And love letters, of course."

"Thanks." M decided not to specify that mostly she was thankful for a distinct lack of poetry and/or love letters in her life. More of H - now that was negotiable. Somewhat negotiable. He was, admittedly, to borrow a phrase, rather 'yummy' in a way that made her want to slap some sense into him from time to time.

"Be that as it may - what was I talking about again?"

Like right now. "Why I'm here. At your request. Which mentioned some sort of urgent, serious and personal problem."

"Oh, personal! Pft. I wouldn't say 'personal'. Private, maybe?" H's expression was pensive.

M closed her eyes and counted to ten. Unfortunately, that only resulted in a list of ten 'personal, maybe private' problems H might be having, each option slightly more horrifying than the previous one.

"No, I need you to do some posing," H said.

M blinked. "Posing?" she repeated, just in case she'd misheard.

"Yeah," H said. "Like, for a picture. You know, posing."

M nodded slowly. "Right. Posing. You need me to do some posing." A suspicion snuck into her mind, dying almost immediately, because he would never - "This wouldn't be nude posing, would it?"

"God, no!" H looked reassuringly appalled. "Not that I wouldn't want to - I mean, you're gorgeous. I'm sure that, you know, without your clothes on - and I mean, you can, if you want to. I suppose. I'd have to check with the artist."

"The artist," M echoed. "For the - " It hit her a bit late. "Right. New paintings. Of course."

"I told him - is it him? 'just work from a photograph, look, I've got a 3-D image right here and a full face-study, bone-structure, the whole works', but he was all 'graah'. Or maybe it was more like 'uuugh'? I don't know, the guy, girl, thing kind of freaks me out. But he's the best so, you know."

"Why settle for less when you can have the best," M said.

H beamed at her. "Exactly."

M nodded. "So who do I see around here to get a promotion and a raise?"

"Sounds like a solid 'mission accomplished', Agent M. Well done," O said.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"I do love the sound of nothing happening in the morning. Or any time of the day, really. It's a rare treat, in our line of work. Treasure it."

M remembered High T telling her to treasure the moment at the office party, when she'd thought it was all over, 'mission accomplished', weapon recovered and the world back to being safe and sound, without any need for turning over a couple of heads to keep the peace.

She said, "Yes, ma'am."

"So I read here you'll be permanently joining the recently renamed WAMIB London office," O said, looking at something off-hologram.

"I successfully argued that to insist on alphabetical order was taking a human-centric view of the universe," M said. "Ma'am."

"Good," O said. "I will, of course, carefully consider your request for a raise. As you know, Agent H is still on probation so his authorization to make such decisions is limited. That said, I don't foresee any problems. It's clear you're doing good work over there."

"Thank you, ma'am."

_epilogue_

"Are you nervous?" H asked. "You look nervous."

"You're the one who looks nervous," M said.

"It's all right. I mean, it's your first time. Perfectly natural to be nervous."

M gritted her teeth.

"Look, it's going to be all right, I promise. You'll enjoy it," H said. "You'll have a good time. Before you know it, you'll be thinking, 'god, I wish someone would reveal a painting showing me heroically save the world again'. Trust me."

The artist was still talking. The speech had gone on for a while now - two hours and forty-six minutes, last time M had checked.

"Can't he just get on with it?"

"She," H said. "I think. She likes you! She's saying all kinds of nice things about you! I think. And can I just say, I feel it's a bit sexist you're assuming the artist is a 'he'. And a bit ironic, considering."

The artist stopped talking and gestured with two of her eyestalks and three of her tentacles to her assistants who apparently worked for six marshmallows and a Snickers bar a week after H had talked them down from demanding twenty Mars bars and an ice cream machine.

M stared.

H stared.

Everyone other than the artist and her assistants, in fact, seemed to be staring.

"Well," H said.

"I think I'm going to be sick," M said.

"Field work," H said. "You know, I'm not going to be one of those stuffy bosses who sit in their office all day. In fact, the very thing came up this morning, lovely mission, right up my alley. Two weeks, at least. And after that, well, accidents happen."

"Yeah. Pretty sure I'm looking at one right now. Though 'accident' seems a bit of an understatement."

"Well, it's art." H closed one of his eyes, then tilted his head to the side. "Personal taste and all that."

"So about this two week mission," M said, and H stopped looking at the painting and beamed at her as if he already knew what she was going to ask.

"Want to tag along? Pick up a few new tricks? Learn from the best, that sort of thing?"

"I get to drive," M said quickly. "Cars, planes, bikes, space-ships. All of them."

"Deal," H said.


End file.
